Filthy Goddamn Horror Show
by inkytears
Summary: What happens when your nightmares become a reality? You find yourself wishing it would never end.
1. Chapter 1

_It's dark, and it's cold, and it's silent and vast. The sheer emptiness threatens to swallow him whole; to engulf and destroy, to consume and extinguish. Overhead, birds black as ink wail, their cries cutting through the night air like sword cuts through wicker and ax through oak. Strangled and broken, a love song between two kindred souls who have found themselves lost all over again. Dappled beads of moisture drip from his brow to sting at his eyes like liquid fire, and his limbs suddenly become far too heavy. Haunting green eyes, staring, blazing a hole right through his skull and straight to his soul. The gaze rips him apart and makes him whole, erases and completes him. He's sure that he's never seen them before. They're all too familiar. As the emptiness surrounds him, he knows he's being watched._

_Blaine Anderson has never felt more alone._

* * *

"Blaine. _Blaine_! Oh, for the love of god."

In his groggy state of mind, Blaine barely had time to register the owner of the voice that was currently urging him awake, or the hand that was gently nudging him out of consciousness.

"Blaine, _please_. C'mon, I've got thirty minutes."

As eyes slowly cracked and lashes fluttered, Blaine's vision returned. He was just barely able to make out that the set of eyes hovering just above him were not a piercing green, but an impossibly more striking blue, complex and swirling with amusement and slight annoyance, almost as if they held galaxies of their own. He blinked once, then once more to clear his own eyes of the sleepiness that kept them sore before groaning quietly and rolling onto his stomach so that his face was pressed into the pillow, dangerously close to the small puddle of drool he had left mere moments ago.

Blaine was tired. For the past few months he had been sleeping horribly, no doubt attributed to the fact that green eyes and crows and dripping sweat tended to always find their way into his nightmares.

Gentle but swift, Blaine felt an insistent tapping on his shoulder blade, but after a moment the movement turned from tapping to a piece of artwork. Graceful fingers danced over bare skin covered in a light sheen of sweat, and Blaine could feel miniscule hearts being drawn against his back.

"Did you have a nightmare again?"

The voice was full of concern, and empathy, and love, and it clearly made enough of an impact on Blaine that he managed a nod against the fabric of his pillow and emitted a soft grunting noise that was clearly meant to signify yes.

"Oh."

All of a sudden the voice grew quiet, and Kurt Hummel slowly lowered his eyes down to his fiancé. For the first time that morning, he looked at him; really, _really_ looked at him, and though it pained him to admit it, Blaine looked rough. He was sprawled across the bed that the two of them shared, his body sagging with obvious exhaustion. His hair was tussled and messy, and his boxers hung low on his hips, just visible above the blanket that had become tangled up in his legs and rested against his thighs. Although at the moment Kurt couldn't see his face, he knew that Blaine's features wouldn't be much better.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

Kurt already knew the answer, so it didn't come as much of a surprise when he was met with a slight shake of the head. Blaine never told his soon-to-be-husband anything about the dreams that reduced him to nothing more than a crying, whimpering, shaking mess each and every night. He didn't like to talk about them, said that it made them seem more real. Kurt nodded in understanding as the movements of his hand gradually slowed, and he eventually dropped it to the mattress rather than against Blaine's back.

"Okay," he said, his voice somehow lower than usual and full of compassion, "I've got to go in a few minutes, and you had said you wanted to drive me to the airport…" He shook his head. "I'll just call a ca—"

Kurt couldn't even finish his sentence before he found himself thrown backwards, nearly tossed off the bed as Blaine jolted to full consciousness and sat up. His eyes were wide and alert with concern, and his bare chest heaved with each frantic breath. Blaine's hands gripped the sheets so hard his knuckles turned nearly as white as the fabric, and his curly hair was sticking up at odd, slightly humorous angles.

"Shit," Blaine muttered under his breath, his voice so hoarse that it broke. He reached up to quickly rub his eyes, curing his vision of the blurriness both in his sight and in his mind. "Kurt, I…I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," Kurt murmured, "I woke you up too late. You looked so peaceful."

Neither man had to say a word to know what the other was thinking. Ever since the nightmares had begun two or three months ago around Christmas time, a peaceful night was rare, and a peaceful morning where Blaine didn't wake up crying at some ungodly hour was even rarer. Having Blaine sleep until 8:00 in the morning…now _that_ was practically a miracle.

Kurt frowned and once again offered to call a cab to take him to the airport, but Blaine shook his head furiously.

"No," he nearly shouted, "I can get ready. Just…just give me a few minutes."

Blaine practically flew out of bed, nothing more than a blur as he rushed to the bathroom. He went so fast, in fact, that the thick blanket that had been covering his legs was carried right off the bed with him, pooling around his ankles and causing him to trip. Miraculously Blaine caught him on the edge of his dresser, but not quick enough for Kurt not to notice. A soft giggle escaped his fiancé's lips and Blaine spun around to face him, his hand on his hip.

"Are you _laughing_ at me?"

Another giggle, this one accompanied by a soft snort. Kurt covered his mouth and doubled over slightly on the edge of the bed, clearly trying to muffle his laughter. "I-I'm sorry," he finally managed, "It's just…it's so hard to take you seriously."

Blaine frowned. He honestly wasn't sure why the situation was so funny.

"Pants, Blaine."

The shorter man quickly glanced down at the lower half off his body, and what he saw caused a faint pink blush to reach from his neck to the tips of his ears. Apparently, with the blanket had gone his underwear, and so his boxers lay pooled at his ankles.

It wasn't that Blaine was awkward or shy around Kurt. It was quite the opposite, really. They often took showers together and slept wrapped up in each other's arms, limbs and blanket alike tangled between them, all the while being stark naked. But the way he was currently standing, with his hip jutted out and a hand lounging sassily on his hip made him feel altogether ridiculous.

"Don't worry," Kurt chuckled after a moment, "It's a nice view."

Blaine flushed even darker and twisted his mouth into a playful frown. It was clear that he was making a valiant effort to appear angry at Kurt, but the smile that played in the corners of his lips and the light that dappled his eyes were a clear indication otherwise. After nearly eight years together, Kurt could see that too, and Blaine knew it, so less than a moment later he dropped his hand and full-out grinned.

"I love you, Kurt Hummel."

Even to this day, three simple words caused Kurt's toes to curl in his shoes and his heart give a faint flutter in his chest.

"I love you, too," he said, "Now go get dressed. It's rush hour and we've got a slow drive to the airport."

Blaine's smile softened from something comical and humorous to soft and sincere. He rocked on the balls of his feet as he murmured, "Kurt…I really love you."

This was customary for the two of them, the warm, nearly sickening exchanges of adoration right before Kurt would step onto a plane and fly miles and miles away from New York. From Blaine. From everything. Each and every time, Blaine's heart would break, and Kurt's would break a little too. For a week or so, they weren't only losing each other, but a special part of themselves as well; both would say it was like living without their other half, and anyone who knew them would swear that to be true. They were codependent to a nearly unhealthy extent, and these trips every few months were heart-wrenchingly devastating. But Blaine never asked Kurt to stop, and so he never did.

Kurt's eyes glazed over with unshed tears and he nodded, lowering his gaze to his lap rather than up at the man who had taken hold of his entire heart.

"I know," Kurt very nearly whispered, afraid that if he mirrored Blaine's words he would fall off the bed and break down in tears, begging and screaming and wailing for Blaine to make him stay; to hold him forever and ever until their lives came to a close. "And it'll be Kurt Hummel-Anderson in less than six months. Hold onto that."Kurt swallowed, "While I'm gone just…just hold onto that."

More joyful and devastating words had never been spoken.

* * *

There was a twinge of excitement in the air as Kurt and Blaine shared a tear-filled goodbye at the entrance to the airport. New adventures, new experiences, the chance to learn just how much they appreciated each other all over again…the fact that Kurt was leaving for three weeks wasn't all bad, but neither could deny that the ache in their hearts was so heavy and strong that a physical pain stretched through their ribs, and eventually, their entire bodies. Blaine hugged Kurt closer, closer than usual, and buried his face where the taller man's neck met his shoulder. He breathed in his fiancé's familiar scent; clean, and expensive, and familiar, and _real_, and Blaine knew that the smell would linger on Kurt's pillow for the next 23 days. It gave him hope.

"I love you," Blaine whispered against the collar of Kurt's thick pea coat.

"I love you too," Kurt responded, and he nearly choked on the words. "Try not to miss me too much, alright?"

A smile and a tear.

"Impossible."

* * *

When one is drunk, colors swirl and sounds echo. You feel alive and dead and numb and devastatingly emotional all at the same time, and everything seems intensified. You become clumsy and bold, loose and free and glaringly stupid. You are the purest version of yourself, and another person entirely.

That's how Blaine found himself at 2am that very night, less than tweny-four hours after bidding a heartbreaking goodbye to the love of his life; and although it was only for a few short weeks, Blaine still found the situation horribly tragic. He had been trying his very best to distract himself all afternoon with activities ranging from reading to eating to shopping to one-man chess, but he found that nothing could keep the stifling loneliness at bay for long.

That is, until the alcohol hit his system full force.

Blaine had eventually broken down and taken a taxi to his favorite bar, thrown back a few drinks and numbed his senses. After a good hour and half of getting himself good and drunk, as well as dancing with a twenty-something girl who's breath smelled like gasoline, insisted on calling him "pookie" and had a strange affinity to doing the polka in the middle of the dance floor. Her name was Delilah, and by the end of the night Blaine had grown quite fond of her.

After a drunken, blatantly empty promise to keep in touch, Blaine parted ways with Delilah, leaving her with a freshly paid drink and a friendly, if not sloppy, kiss on the cheek. Kurt was well aware of the fact that Blaine frequented bars whenever he was away, and it had almost become customary for Blaine to waste away the first night of solitude drowning his sorrows in booze. All Kurt asked was that Blaine stay safe, because the two of them trusted one another. Never had it crossed Blaine's mind that Kurt would ever be unfaithful while he was away, and he was fairly certain that he himself had never displayed any signs of a cheater, which is why Blaine left the bar guilt-free. He had gotten drunk and eliminated his sadness, all the while staying a perfectly good fiancé, and by extension, keeping Kurt happy.

He pushed open the heavy exit door. _That's all I ever want to do in life_, Blaine realized with a smile, though perhaps not in so many coherent words, _keep Kurt happy._

And that's when he ran into something hard, solid, and entirely unexpected.

"Woah, hey…you alright there, buddy?" The stranger, a man in his mid-thirties or forties, and other half of the human collision asked. Somehow, he had miraculously managed to catch Blaine's shoulder to keep him from face planting into the hard pavement. Once he was steady, Blaine took a clumsy step out of the stranger's hold and nodded.

"Mhm…" he said, his eyes half-lidded and dull as he swayed slightly, nearly falling over sideways, "M'sorry, man...I almost hurt my face."

His words were heavily slurred and awkward, and after a moment of hesitation the man nodded and walked away, only once throwing a concerned look back at Blaine over his shoulder.

Blaine was, for lack of a better word, drunk off his ass. He considered calling a taxi to take him home, and even in his barely-coherent state Blaine knew that was the right thing to do. The jacket he had brought wasn't nearly heavy enough to keep him from the harsh, biting wind of New York City, and the area he was in wasn't exactly known for having the safest streets to wander after dark. Regardless, Blaine knew what waited for him back at his apartment. An empty house, an empty bed, and nightmares; so many nightmares. He wasn't making smart decisions, seeing as he _was_ drunk and all, so rather than calling a ride home, he shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking. Where to? Blaine had simply no idea.

* * *

A good hour or two passed and overwhelming intoxication was still controlling each and every one of Blaine's actions. Before too long, he found himself in a neighborhood that he didn't recognize in the slightest, one that screamed poverty and suffering and had the faint stench of urine in the air. Had Blaine not been so afraid of going through a nightmare alone, even through his drunkenness would he have realized that he needed to call a cab. _Now_. Many of the windows were boarded up or broken, and a fair number of the houses (if you could stand to call them that) had absolutely no doors at all. The pavement on the sidewalk was cracked and laden with weeds and empty beer bottles, and although Blaine couldn't be sure, he was nearly positive that a rat had scurried a yard or two in front of his feet just a moment ago.

It was a filthy environment, one that Blaine had never before seen firsthand. Dangerous and rough, he was fairly certain that being a mere 5"9', gay, and relatively small in all aspects didn't exactly bode well for his situation—although, to his credit he wasn't worried. That is, until three unrecognizable figures emerged from the darkness of a alleyway a few feet to his left.

Blaine froze, or rather, tried to freeze, though his drunken state caused him to stumble a bit. It was an animalistic instinct to consider that perhaps if he didn't move, the three people wouldn't see him in the darkness

A high-pitched catcall that sliced through the stale, pungent air proved him wrong.

Blaine was immediately relieved to see that the three figures were women rather than men, because one assumes that the latter is far more dangerous, especially in a situation like that of Blaine's. Then he realized that women, just as well as men, could kidnap, beat, kill, or otherwise fatally maim him, and freezing cold terror flooded through his system like ice through his veins all over again.

He was then confused, because these women were not dressed like thugs or criminals, but rather scantily clad in slinky black skirts and shredded fishnets. Factoring in their impossibly high heels that supported dark faux-leather boots reaching well over their knees, two of the three women towered over Blaine by at least a few inches. It was very nearly impossible to tell their age, both because of the smoky, drug-filled darkness and the fact that the amount of makeup each of them wore was verging on grotesque. One woman's hair was ratty and tangled while the two others kept theirs in short, uneven bobs. Their lips were red as cherries and Blaine would have sooner eaten his own arm than believed each of their chests weren't surgically enhanced.

Prostitutes.

"Hey there, handsome," one of the short-haired girls purred as she began slinking towards Blaine at a tantalizingly slow pace. From her voice, it was clear she spent more time with a cigarette in her mouth than without.

"Mmm…" a second girl hummed under her breath, though it sounded more like a low moan than anything else. Blaine was rooted to the spot. "He's cute…"

The third girl with the rat's nest hair nodded and took a bold step towards Blaine, then side-stepped his body so that she was standing behind him. Her thin, frail arms snaked around his waist to hook her thumbs in the belt loops at the front of his jeans, the rest of her fingers rubbing slow, methodical circles against the denim, dangerously close to his crotch. The girl leaned her face forward, and if Blaine didn't know any better he would have thought that she was going to rest her chin on his shoulder. Without even looking, Blaine could smell the stench of pot on her tongue as she breathed, heavy and hot and raspy in his ear.

"How'd you like a night with one of us?" she hissed.

"Or all three," a different girl suggested. It was impossible to differentiate, and each of the women cackled.

The one standing behind him bucked her hips crudely against his backside, and Blaine couldn't help but think that if they were trying to turn him on, they were failing miserably. He wanted to cry, to fall over onto the filthy, unsanitary pavement, curl into a little ball, and sob his eyes out. This was sexual harassment at its worst, and due to the alcohol Blaine didn't have an inkling of an idea on how to save himself.

Just as his mind was beginning to shut down and his vision was turning stark white out of fear, Blaine was roughly shoved forward, then caught by a strong hand grabbing his arm.

"Hey!" A woman screeched angrily, presumably the one who's hands only a moment ago had been toying with Blaine's pants. "What the fuck do you think you're doi—"

"He's mine."

This last voice was new, and notably, male. It was cool as metal and soft as velvet—harsh and soothing, pleasant and unnerving, low and slightly raspy, and _stunningly_ alluring. Blaine didn't dare turn around. Instead he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping and praying that the mystery voice would drive these three women away.

"_Sebby_," one woman whined, "People like him don't come 'round here anymore. Stop bein' be so fucking selfish. You always get the good ones."

"Right," the voice said, "and I'd hazard a guess that that's probably due to two equally valid reasons. One, because I'm aware of this nifty little trick known as charm—or two, that I don't smell like rotten horse's ass. Either way, he doesn't play for your team. Look at his shoes."

There it was, that voice again, this time saying statements that under normal circumstances would have made Blaine giggle. He spared a quick glance down at his feet and his drunkenness allowed him to smile through his fear. Not surprisingly, his shoes had been a gift from Kurt.

There was a brief moment of crippling silence, then the mystery voice said, "He's already paid. Now run along, Veronica, and take these two with you. Their hair is atrocious."

This time Blaine actually _did _giggle, because he could only assume that the man was speaking to Rat's Nest, which happened to be what Blaine had begun so fondly calling her in his head, and referring to Bob 1 and Bob 2. Their hair really was ghastly.

"Watch it!" A woman shrieked from behind him in response to Blaine's laughter, "You got something to say, kid?"

There was a scuffle of feet against gravel, then much more firmly the man's voice snarled, "_Go_."

After a bit of mumbling and grumbling, and the sound of saliva crudely being spit to the ground, Blaine heard the clickity-clack of heals, presumable retreating back into the alley from which they came. He remained frozen for what seemed like years, centuries even, and just as he was beginning to wonder whether then man with the mystery voice had left him to fend for himself, he spoke again.

"You can turn around now."

And so he did. Blaine slowly turned, his body rotating at a snail's pace as though he was afraid that what he would find would be a thousand times worse than what he was facing just moments ago. Rather than sexual harassment, perhaps this man would abuse him physically. Perhaps he was holding a gun, perhaps he was planning on throwing him into a large white van. Perhaps—

Oh.

Blaine's eyes slowly raked up the stranger's body, his lanky frame and his taunt muscles that were just barely visible through his ripped wife-beater that Blaine assumed must have been white at some point. The intricate tattoo on his forearm and the easy, confident way he was standing that practically oozed arrogance. His jaw line and his lips that spoke such pretty words.

"Sebastian," the man said, holding out his hand. Blaine finally met his eye. His striking green eyes.

And that's when everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

_It's pouring. There's rain and it's dripping and it's pounding and it hurts and it stings and it burns right through flesh. The sun is there, hanging high in the sky like a murderous temptation. It's there, but it's black; a dark orb overhead that destroys all the shadows that close in faster than he can possibly run. His feet slip on nothing and his legs seem to lag and trip over solid emptiness that coils around his ankles and renders coordination useless. Eyes. There are eyes now, the same eyes he's been seeing for months, only this time the eyes are attached to a face and the lips on that face are speaking words like soft velvet._

_"Turn around. Turn around. Turn around." _

_Wind rustles in the trees and the bushes and the grass and the air, and it seems to be mimicking the words exactly in hushed whispers. They have a secret they're just dying to tell._

_"Turn around. Turn around. Turn around."_

_All of a sudden the words change, and the wind picks up, causing his shirt to whip up around his torso and goose bumps to appear on every centimeter of his skin. The tempo changes and the words are quicker now, louder and more forceful. More alive._

_"Are you okay? Seriously, wake up. Wake up."_

_Blaine panics as the darkness closes in._

_"Wake up. Wake up."_

* * *

Blaine awoke with a start, his eyes flying open faster than lightning and his back arching as a shock of fear pulsed through his body. He looked around frantically, his breath leaving his lips in short, broken pants. His head was pounding, a loud ringing echoing in his skull. His stomach was aching painfully, his vision blurry and his mind unclear. Blaine found his surroundings unfamiliar in every way possible, both in the sense that he had never seen this room before in his entire life, and because this room, and this bed, and this blanket were a bit…_dirtier _than he was used to. Blaine swallowed hard, his throat dry and painful, and he gave a slugging start when he saw that he wasn't alone in the dim, dingy little room.

His heart rate quickened even faster as he looked into the startlingly green eyes that were gazing curiously right back at him.

"Morning, Sunshine."

And there was that voice again, that goddamn voice that seemed to haunt both Blaine's nightmares and his reality. He blushed a pale pink, not because he was charmed or swept off his feet with the term of endearment, but rather because the man from last night was looking at him like a jungle cat stalking his pray. It was terrifying, and Blaine never wanted him to look away.

"I…you…" Blaine trailed off, his brow furrowing in confusion as he finally broke their gaze. He was afraid of what the man, whom he vaguely remembered introducing himself as Sebastian the night prior, would say if he asked all the questions that were swimming around his mind. Had they…slept together? In either sense of the word, really. Why couldn't he remember the better part of last night? Why did his head feel about ready to explode? Why did—

"No." The man's voice came out of nowhere.

"Huh?" Blaine asked, looking up, a confused expression still gracing his features as he sat up a bit more to lean against the thin wooden headboard . "No, what?"

The man rolled his eyes and chuckled, no doubt amused by the ridiculously lost look on Blaine's face. "No, we didn't fuck," he mused. "I assume that's what you were wondering? It's a shame, really." He leaned a bit closer, a soft lock of hair falling into his emerald eyes, though through with Blaine's sleepy state he barely even noticed. "Veronica was right…you're cute." He paused. "You want some water? You're looking a little rough."

Blaine blinked. "I…thank you? Water would be great, actually."

"Fantastic," the man said with a sly grin, light specs of gold sparkling in his irises, "And it's Sebastian, by the way. I'm not sure how much of last night you remember. Sit tight, babe."

"Blaine," the shorter boy responded quietly from the bed, then merely nodded, glancing at Sebastian retreating figure; that is, until he reached the door, at which point Blaine called out in a hoarse, dry voice.

"Sebastian?"

The taller man turned and raised a graceful eyebrow as he leaned against the shabby doorframe and crossed his arms. His stance was arrogant and his mouth was tight from trying so hard not to laugh out loud at Blaine's hilarious bedhead.

"That's my name," he smirked.

There was a moment of silence that hung in the air and forced the atmosphere in the room to do a complete 180. Less than a moment ago, Sebastian had been amused and judgmental, teasing and purposefully vague. Blaine had been perplexed and lost, confused and entirely unsure of what he was doing and where he was. Now, with one simple open-ended question, Blaine had taken control of the situation. The power had been switched, and Sebastian was left waiting._That_, he realized, _would have to change._

"What?" Sebastian pursed his lips and set his jaw, "You think my name's funny?"

Blaine paused once again. "No…" he said slowly, sounding out both letters as they slid easily off his tongue, "I was just wondering…did you help me last night, or am I totally imagining that?"

"In a manner of speaking," Sebastian chuckled. "I'm guessing you still want that water?"

With that, Sebastian departed from the room and shut the ill-fitting door into the frame behind him, leaving Blaine alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Mere minutes passed, but to Blaine they felt like hours. The thumping in his head was causing his thoughts to twist and morph into things altogether unpleasant, from tracing the tattoo on Sebastian's arm to leaning in close so he could count the golden flecks in the other boy's eyes.

Before too long, Blaine's thoughts alone became too much. His own head seemed to be subconsciously controlling his feelings and his actions, pushing and pulling him to the boy who was no doubt standing in an equally shabby kitchen. Blaine only justified this want; this desire, this unadulterated need to drag himself out of bed and go find Sebastian, perhaps if nothing more than to make sure he was real rather than a figment of Blaine's own imagination.

That seemed wrong. Wrong and dirty and horribly unfaithful, because why on earth should Blaine Anderson care about the likes of a dirty prostitute living in the slums of New York City?

Except he did, and he couldn't bring himself to stop.

The only saving point of this whole mindset was that Blaine knew it was no romantic or sexual feeling that seemed to physical draw him to Sebastian, but rather his morals and beliefs. Without explanation, this complete stranger had put himself potentially in harm's way just so that some drunk guy, that guy being Blaine, wouldn't get hurt. Then he had gone so far as to allow a stranger into his home for the night, just to keep him safe. That went beyond courtesy; hell, that went beyond heroism. That was pure human compassion, and Blaine knew for a fact that the uncomfortable guilt settling in the pit of his stomach was due to the fact that thus far, it had gone un-thanked.

_That's what it is_, Blaine told himself, _and that's all it is. The need to be gracious, not some twisted, unexplained fascination._

He threw his legs over the side of the bed and slowly sat up, groaning at the cinderblock feeling that was crashing against each and every inch of his skull, the pounding so fast he could barely think. As he pushed himself to his feet, swaying just slightly, Blaine could tell just how lethargic and slow his whole body really was, and due to his hangover, he knew that it would be a long and torturous walk down the hallway. At least he wasn't vomiting. No doubt _that _would have left a fantastic expression.

Not that Blaine really cared, of course.

* * *

When he eventually found his way to the kitchen, passing three or four rooms with peeling wallpaper and broken furniture on his way there, Blaine realized that he could distinctly make out the sound of voices; or rather, one voice in particular, and skidded to a halt where he stood. A voice of velvet, and another that was female and full of static. Clearly Sebastian was on the phone, and Blaine couldn't help but be a bit curious.

"Yeah, yeah…sure, sweetheart," Sebastian spoke into the receiver, loud enough for Blaine to hear from his hidden spot in the hallway. There was a static-filled response that he couldn't quite make out.

"I said _yes_, Meg. Just give me a few hours, alright? I have company."

More static, angry this time.

"Oh, please—"

Blaine could practically see Sebastian rolling his eyes through the wall.

"—You know I adore you. Yes, he's cute. _Goodbye_, Alice."

Yet again, the static returned, though now it sounded far more affectionate.

Sebastian paused for a moment before mumbling, "I love you, too." Blaine heard a beep that signified the end of the call.

Blaine then had two choices. He could one, either stay where he was or creep back to his room, pretending that hadn't heard a second of Sebastian's private phone call, thereby avoiding any awkwardness—or he could throw caution to the wind and step through the doorway. The answer seemed obvious.

"Was that your girlfriend?" Blaine asked, walking inside the kitchen in a rare fit of rashness. Immediately he covered his mouth with his hands as his eyes grew to the size of the moon. What on earth was he doing, asking such a personal question to a man he didn't know in the slightest? It was rude, and uncalled for, and so unlike Blaine that his next words came out stuttered and rushed, "I-I didn't—I mean…"

Sebastian merely chuckled as he glanced up and saw that he was no longer alone in his tiny little kitchen. "She's a girl," he mused, "and I guess you could call her my friend."

A long silence ensued, quiet enough that a pin drop could be heard. But eventually, as all silences tend to play-out, one of them had to break it.

"I'm gay," Sebastian finally said, his mouth twisting up in an arrogant grin, "And by your _blatant_ jealously, I'm assuming you are too." He pursed his lips and stood up, then walked over to a little white kettle sitting on what appeared to be a dangerously uneven stovetop.

"I'm engaged!" Blaine blurted out, his eyes nearly popping out of his head at the road this conversation had taken. Once again, a split-second later and he found himself wishing he could retract the comment, seeing as it was probably very rude; but the statement only caused Sebastian to grin even wider and begin pouring dark liquid into a homey ceramic mug.

"And I'm a Sagittarius. Tea?"

* * *

"So your fiancé's a fashion editor, huh?" Sebastian sipped his tea quietly and grinned over the rim of his cup, one part resembling a supermodel and two parts resembling the Cheshire Cat. "That's fancy."

The two men, one short and bashful, the other lanky and blunt, had spent the past twenty minutes or so making awkward, if not meaningless chitchat in Sebastian's kitchen, and just now were they making their way into personal territory rather than their favorite 80's rock songs or a heated debate between purple or white grapes.

Blaine nodded, a proud flush coloring his cheeks as it always did when he mentioned his Kurt's job to strangers. Even to Blaine, who admittedly had little to no idea what the job actually entailed, it sounded impressive.

"Which magazine?"

A brief shrug of Blaine's shoulders and he answered, "Something French, I can't pronounce the name. All I know is that it keeps him away from home a lot. Every few months he'll leave for a week or so, this time two." Tragically, and _beyond_pathetically, Blaine had to work in order to keep tears that pricked behind his eyes at bay.

Sebastian's thin, graceful fingers methodically trailed across the rounded ceramic edge of his mug in slow, controlled yet subconscious movements, and Blaine had to train his eyes to keep them from gazing down at them.

"You ever need someone to warm up that empty bed of yours and keep away the loneliness at night, I'll be happy to oblige," Sebastian said with a wink.

Blaine blushed and glanced down at his own tea, that of which was mostly gone since it was surprisingly delicious, and helped his headache tremendously. "That won't be necessary," he mumbled under his breath, "But thank you."

The better part of what had happened last night had already been explained and re-explained to Blaine courtesy of Sebastian, and now the shorter man felt such immense gratitude that he couldn't help but be absolutely polite, even when Sebastian was clearly making him uncomfortable. Blaine had thanked him profusely, then thanked him again, the graciousness evident in his tone and in his movements when he grabbed Sebastian's hand from across the table and gave it a gentle squeeze. Sebastian had clearly been surprised, but he had kept his emotions in check and squeezed Blaine's hand right back, even going so far as to allow their fingers to linger for a moment as they parted.

Now the awkwardness had crept back into the atmosphere of the room, setting like a heavy cloud on both men's consciousness. It seemed to occur every time Sebastian managed to slip sex in some form or another back into the conversation, which Blaine was beginning to notice tended to happen a lot.

"I should probably go…" Blaine muttered quietly.

Too his credit, Sebastian didn't urge him otherwise, instead simply nodding and standing up to place both he and Blaine's mugs beside the sink. "Sure," he said with a careless shrug. "I can see why you'd want to get out of here."

Blaine didn't have much of an idea of what on earth he was supposed to say to a statement like that, so he simply stood up and brushed imaginary specs of lint off his now wrinkled-jeans and readjusted his shirt that smelled faintly of sweat, smoke, and alcohol. Sebastian made a grand sweeping motion with his hands to show Blaine to the door, then followed behind as Blaine stepped onto the porch and into the cool evening air.

"Here," he said, holding out his hand towards Blaine as they stood facing each other on his front step. "Give me your phone."

Despite all that had happened, Blaine's eyes still narrowed in suspicion.

"Why?" He asked.

Sebastian worked hard at not letting the hurt at such a display of distrust show on his face, and fortunately he did an absolutely fantastic job.

"So you'll have my number, dumbass."

Blaine swallowed hard. "I...I don't know if I…"

He should have known that once again, Sebastian would remedy the situation before it was even a problem.

"Relax," he said, "It's just in case you need any more saving, alright? Take care of yourself, Blaine."

Another rush of guilt fell to the pit of Blaine's stomach as he watched Sebastian's fingers fly across the keyboard. Here was a man that had done absolutely nothing wrong, aside from the occasional flirting and innuendos. He was harmless; more than harmless, he was downright _selfless_, yet Blaine still had the audacity to question his character. Shame burned on his face.

"Thank you," Blaine managed once his phone was back in his hand, and a moment later shoved carefully into his back pocket. "For the tea and…well, for everything really. Mostly for saving me, I guess."

_Saving me. _Even in Blaine's head, the phrase sounded a little ridiculous, and judging by his next statement Sebastian thought the same.

"I'm no Prince Charming, sweetheart. I'm a hooker."

He had probably expected Blaine to make some comment of disgust, or at the very least, disapproval. The entire time they had been talking, he had failed to once mention the pink elephant in the room, though admittedly it had only been partially intentional; for the most part, the subject just hadn't come up. Now he was leering down at Blaine with an expression of pure intensity, practically _daring_ the other man to voice his opinions.

Blaine surprised him.

"Well, I guess that's good—because I'm no princess."

* * *

Once Blaine had safely arrived home in a cab (one that Sebastian had graciously called without even asking), taken a shower to rid himself of the grime and grit he felt in crevices he hadn't even known he _had_, and taken a half hour out of his day to read and collect his thoughts, Blaine realized that he honestly and truly needed to call Kurt. He _wanted_ to call Kurt; to hear his voice and know that the love of his life was safe, so he swiftly grabbed his cell from the edge of his bed and pressed speed dial one, then lifted the phone to his ear in eager anticipation.

"Hello?"

"Hey there, Mr. Fancy Fashion Editor."

Kurt smiled on the other end of the line, quickly closing his laptop and propping his legs up onto the desk of his hotel suite. The curtains were drawn and the room was dim.

"Hello to you too, Mr. Soon-to-be-husband."

A smile immediately graced Blaine's lips and he closed his eyes, reveling in the sound of Kurt's voice as his fiancé spoke.

"I like your hello better," he whispered.

Silence followed, but not of the awkward sort like you'd experience during the standard post-first date call or forced conversation between two people who really weren't in-tuned to what the other was feeling. This was comfortable and relaxing and perfectly normal, and it felt so fucking _good_ that Blaine almost cried.

"I miss you," Blaine murmured, and he wasn't ashamed to later admit that his voice broke and unshed tears sprung to his eyes, causing a muted yet painful sting.

Kurt laughed, a clear attempt to lighten the mood that had taken over their conversation in the course of about ten seconds.

"Blaine," he chuckled, "It's been two days. Not _even_ two days."

"So I'm not allowed to miss you?"

Kurt gave a little smile and sighed, his eyelashes fluttering closed as he blocked out his physical vision and allowed his mind to drift to images of Blaine's face, to the sound of his laugh and the way it felt when Blaine would hold him at night and promise to never let go.

"I miss you too," Kurt murmured. "How's life on the East Coast?"

Blaine was suddenly all too aware of the fact that he was clutching his cell phone for dear life. "Okay, I guess. Everything's fine. And on the West?"

"Alright."

This moment, this moment right here was the single bit of awkwardness that Kurt and Blaine as a couple faced. That moment when both had something to state or to ask, but neither of them wanted to say it. Often times their statements collided, and sometimes they had nothing to do with each other at all, but yet there they always seemed to remain, stuck in the back of their minds rather than slipping from their tongues. They didn't want to worry each other, after all; especially when the other was so very far away.

Luckily, this time, their thoughts were one in the same.

"What about the nightmar—"

"—I haven't had any."

A pause, then nervous laughter turned relieved rang through the receiver as each man realized that once again, they were perfectly synced to the other and had spoken about the exact same thing at the same time. Blaine leaned against his giant mound of pillows and Kurt settled into the office chair, both men clearly more relaxed now that the subject was out in the open. Blaine spoke first.

"I'm pretty sure that I didn't dream at all last night, actually," he said. There was no need to tell Kurt that this had been due to a sexual harassment, fear, and alcohol induced black-out.

Kurt's eyebrows rose on the other end of the line. "Really?" He asked, "How long has it been since you were able to say that? Maybe I'm your bad luck charm. Might be best if I just stay on over here in Vegas."

Blaine giggled to the point that a soft snort was just barely heard, causing the other man to giggle too.

"I'd miss you _far _too much. Either way, you can't be out of town for your own wedding, silly!"

"First of all," Kurt pointed out, "The wedding's six months away. And second…" Cue dramatic pause. "I think I'd rather die."

Blaine rolled his eyes at Kurt's obvious tendency to overdramatize things, but he smiled fondly just the same. This was Kurt, the man he loved and adored and couldn't bear to see changed in any way, shape, or form, melodramatic lifestyle included.

"Well, thank go—"

Blaine was cut off by the sound of ringing at the other end, and a moment later he could hear Kurt standing from his chair and taking a few paces to something in his room; presumably, a phone.

"Damn it," Blaine heard Kurt mutter angrily under his breath. His voice then became louder and more clear, and Blaine's ears perked up because obviously these next words were meant for him.

"Hey babe, I'm sorry but I've got to take this. Talk to you tomorrow, alright? Love you."

Blaine visibly slumped, not that Kurt could see. "Love you t—"

The line went dead.

Dread filled Blaine's face as all color drained from his skin. Without a purpose—that purpose being talking to Kurt—there were really no viable excuses left to still be up this late at night. He would have to sleep. He would have to dream. He would have to wake up alone.

* * *

_There's gravel and it crunches beneath his feet and rocks fly up to hit his face and he's running; running faster than he ever has before and not nearly fast enough. There's no chaser, no threat, and yet his legs pump quicker and suddenly the gravel turns wet and feet slap against mud. There are no shoes and flesh tears and shreds and mud turns red like leaking rose petals. A faint shadow appears in the distance, a figure, a man, he's unrecognizable though it couldn't be anyone else, hidden by shadows of oaks that aren't really there; wisps and glimmers and bark and emerald, and suddenly the emerald is in his eyes. Two orbs that glow and flicker. He reaches for him, the figure with no name and no face and no substance and all of a sudden the figure is gone, and hot tears rush down his face, blazing hot paths of molten down his cheeks._

_He's lost him…he's lost him…he's lost him…_

* * *

Blaine was rocketed back to consciousness with a jolt like lightning, his breathing fast and his shirt drenched in sweat. He couldn't see due to the dim light of his bedroom, and before he had the chance to think he grasped uselessly for a figure beside him. The bed was empty.

A broken, raspy noise escaped Blaine's lips from deep within his chest, a mix between a whine and a sob and a desperate plea. He was alone, and he was terrified; scarred and sobbing to the point that even if it had been light, he wouldn't have been able to see through his tears. He needed someone. Desperately. So before he thought it through, Blaine reached for his phone off the nightstand and searched through his contact list with fingers so shaky he could barely scroll and dial.

"H-Hello? Sebastian? It's Blaine."

Normally he would have probably cracked a smile at the fact that Sebastian's number was under the name _Prince Charming_, but at the moment Blaine can barely even think.

"Didn't think you'd be calling so soon," Sebastian answered, and his voice sounded wide awake and alert despite the fact that was nearly 4am. "Did you need something? I'm working." From his tone of voice, it was clear that Sebastian wasn't referring to his day job.

"Yes," Blaine managed, "Now."

Sebastian paused, his eyes growing wide and his heart thumping loudly in his chest, though Blaine couldn't see any of his reaction.

"Blaine, no offense, but I really can't do this right now," he sighed.

"Sebastian…" Blaine whispered, his voice past the point of pleading. And it's enough.

On the other end of the line, Sebastian took a deep breath and asked for Blaine's address, and through all the tears and shakiness of breath, Blaine was able to choke it out to the point that was mostly understandable.

"Are you sure this can't want?" Sebastian asked, once he was sure that he had the address committed to memory. "It's an emergency?"

Blaine was broken, and he was selfish, and he was shaking and crying and altogether incoherent. Rational thoughts were no longer an option.

"Please?" he pleaded quietly, his voice barely audible through his tears and over the sound of the telephone static, "I need someone. I need you."

Sebastian closed his eyes.

"I'll be there in ten."


	3. Chapter 3

No sound had ever rang so sweet in Blaine's ears as the _ding-dong_ of the doorbell at 5:30 in the morning. It meant that he was about to be saved; saved by his Prince Charming no less, and for some reason, he found that he didn't even had the emotional capacity to feel guilty about it.

He quite literally ran to the door, and immediately upon seeing Sebastian standing on the front stoop in a pair of jeans so tight they should have been illegal, Blaine threw his arms around his waist and buried his face into the space between his neck and his shoulder.

"Thank you for coming over," he whispered, his voice still hoarse and cracking. "Thank you."

Sebastian was surprised, to say the least, at the sudden display of affection, but it certainly wasn't unwelcome, so he wrapped his arms tightly around Blaine's tiny frame and held the shorter man as close as possible, his breath cold and visible and the biting night weather. "I said I would," he whispered into Blaine's curly hair, his eyes squeezing shut against the wind. "I'm here to help."

And help he did, because before too long, Sebastian and Blaine found themselves sitting side-by-side in Blaine's bed, talking about life and pasts and their favorite flavor of ice cream.

More importantly, Blaine found himself smiling.

They never discussed the nightmares or Blaine's reason for calling. Sebastian never asked, and Blaine never told. It was better this way.

Easier

* * *

Sebastian rolled his eyes and shoved a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. "No really, what is it? Clearly something's on your mind, and it's not like we haven't talked about every other fucking topic under the sun. Spit out it, babe."

Blaine bit his lip nervously as he resisted the urge to close his eyes out of sheer awkwardness. A blunt statement was prodding at his mind, an inquiry really—a question that was just begging to be asked.

"Don't take this the wrong way…" he finally managed cautiously, tiptoeing across dangerously thin ice, "but do you have a…y'know, a day job?" Blaine swallowed hard as words continued to lay lodged in his thought. "Is this it?"

A soft, whimsical chuckle escaped Sebastian's lips, and he gave a slight shrug as his placed the tub of ice cream on a low night side table, his arms folding neatly behind his head as he leaned back against the sturdy headboard of Blaine's bed.

"This is it," he said, mimicking the shorter man's words, though coming from his own mouth they sounded far more casual and relaxed, and far less forced and uncomfortable. "Night hours keep me pretty busy. Only problem is, there's no stability, you know? Once night I'm dealing with some dumb bitch who's got a faithful sugardaddy. That's 300 bucks, no problem. The next…" he slowly exhaled, "…rein."

Sebastian glanced over at Blaine and smiled a little, the ghost of a grin just barely gracing his pale red lips. "That's French," he murmured quietly. "Sometimes the clients prefer it."

A long moment passed, then on a whim, Sebastian dropped one of his arms and allowed it to fall softly against Blaine's leg, the large tattoo on his forearm facing upward. "French," he repeated. "_Après la pluie le beau temps_. It means 'after rain comes sunshine'." Sebastian shrugged, "Roughly. Translations are messy and all that. I got it a few years ago to remind myself that no matter how long I'm forced to watch this shithole of a world around me crumble, there's always the chance that it'll get better."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Corny, I kno—"

"No," Blaine said, his eyes meeting Sebastian's. "It's beautiful."

There was another stretch of silence then, but it was surprisingly comfortable and easy, and neither man had to speak to know that the other felt that it was just _right_.

Blaine took that time to study the intricate design on Sebastian's arm, using the opportunity to explore in ways he had previously not allowed himself to give in to. At first glance he had thought that it was a dragon or other large animal, but open closer inspection, he realized that it was actually a delicately drawn tree. A tree that's branches twisted and curved and morphed against the light of a moon that was shaded expertly into the background.

Blaine had seen this tree before, problem being… his eyes had been closed, his mind had been off, and he had been dead asleep in the middle of night.

Shit.

His heart was already beating a mile a minute, and when Blaine's gaze flickered up to meet Sebastian's, and he gave a start when he saw that emerald green eyes were already locked on his own. It was previously established that he had seen those in his nightmares as well.

"Hey," Sebastian said softly, the corner of his eyes crinkling in concern. Blaine was vaguely aware of the fact that his voice was much gentler and mild than he had normally heard it, but under the circumstances he didn't really give it a second thought.

"You okay?"

Sebastian laid his hand against Blaine's knee and give a light squeeze, smiling reassuringly as he did so. Blaine swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. It was probably a bit too hasty and rushed, but if Sebastian noticed, he didn't say anything.

Neither Blaine nor Sebastian spoke for a few seconds, and when they did it was at the exact same time.

"Do you—"

"—Look, I'm—"

Both their sentences screeched to a halt as Blaine blushed a feint red and Sebastian laughed, one part maliciously and nine-thousand parts out of a strange sort of endearment he felt whenever he got the chance to see the tips of Blaine's ears turn a positively adorable pink.

"You first," he said.

Blaine blinked just once to collect his thoughts, then slowly exhaled. "I was just wondering you said you didn't have a day job. Does that mean you're free tomorrow morning?"

"Free as a bird."

"Oh," Blaine nodded to himself and dragged his teeth along his lower lip.

Sebastian gave Blaine a moment to elaborate, then wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and practically cooed, "Why, princess? Hoping you'll get lucky already?"

"About that!" Blaine piped up, playfully nudging Sebastian's shoulder with his own, "Nice contact name, dumbass." He shook his head, "Good try, but not a chance. Though I _do_ want you to spend the night. You let me stay at your place, and even if I was passed out for 99% of the time, it's only fair for me to return the favor."

A perfectly arched eyebrow shot up Sebastian's forehead and he narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "Somehow I don't see your fiancé loving that idea."

"Oh please," Blaine shook his head, "Not like that. I just…I don't want to be alone right now. I can sleep on the floor if it makes you more comfortable…"

The other man merely laughed. "Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart, and no. I've got_ absolutely _no problem being close to you."

Blaine's blush turned to a look of confusion as Sebastian swung his legs over the edge of the bed in order to push himself to his feet. Once he was standing, Blaine was able to shamelessly take in the look of Sebastian's body once again without the threat of being caught. Everything about him seemed to be perfect, from his toned arms to his legs to his abs and to his _ass_, which notably, looked fucking fantastic in those sinfully tight jeans of his. Blaine couldn't even bring himself to feel guilty at his unfiltered leering. There was nothing wrong with appreciating the looks of an attractive man, right? Though unfortunately, Blaine must have kept up his lascivious manner for a split second too long, because a moment later he was snapped out of his thoughts by a voice that was brimming with amusement.

"Enjoying the view?"

Blaine's face turned beet red in the course of about 0.2 seconds. "I wasn't looking," he mumbled, turning away in shame.

"Sure," Sebastian chuckled, rolling his eyes to such an overdramatic extent that it was nearly ridiculous, "And if you'd rather you kept your innocence, I don't suggest you look up." With that, Sebastian began the daunting task of peeling off his pants inch by inch.

After being told not to, of course Blaine simply _had _to look up, because truth be told, he still had the mindset of a third grader; but when he did, he shrieked and buried his face into his pillow.

Apparently prostitutes weren't too fond of underwear.

Blaine had a sneaking suspicion that might have just been Sebastian.

* * *

That night, Blaine had a very_ different_ sort of dream.

* * *

_There's sweat, so much sweat. Bodies are sliding and breathing is hushed and he's panting and it's hot. Everything's wet. There's moaning and it's everywhere and everything, surrounding him and becoming him and a scream ripples from deep within his chest to cut through the air; the air on fire, because it feels so fucking _good _and it's so much. It's too much. It hurts and it burns and makes him wish it would never end as hands travel and backs arch off of soft satin. He's crying, not out of pain but out of pleasure, and suddenly everything goes white as the knot in the pit of his stomach uncoils and molten lava shoots through his veins. He's unraveled, and he's broken, and he belongs to the boy with the emerald eyes._

* * *

Blaine woke up with a dick against his ass.

At first there was a moment of panic. Had he gotten drunk again and slept with Sebastian? Had he cheated on Kurt? Had he ruined his life and destroyed any chance he would ever have at happiness and—

Oh. Right.

Memories came flooding back to him from last night; how Sebastian had stripped in the middle of Blaine's room, and how like a good fiancé, Blaine had averted his gaze immediately and directed Sebastian to his dresser for a spare set of boxers. His eyes had been closed the entire time, and when Sebastian had crawled back into bed, Blaine had firmly set some boundaries.

Sebastian was to stay on his own side the entire night, and that was that.

Now there wasn't an even a centimeter separating them, Sebastian's chest pressed right against Blaine's toned back. They melted together, and it was impossible to tell where one man's body ended and the other began. Blaine knew it was wrong; so, so wrong, and despite the numerous mistakes he had made last night, there was no way that he was letting this go on any longer than it already had. After slowly releasing a deep breath, he began wiggling out of Sebastian's arms; arms that were currently wrapped like iron-strong pythons around his waist.

"Relax," Sebastian suddenly murmured, and Blaine jumped. He hadn't known that the other man was awake.

"I'm a prostitute. I'm practically immune to awkwardness."

Sebastian slowly brushed his hand against the warm skin that stretched over Blaine's ribcage, his graceful fingers leaving a trail of desire in their wake. "Now _you_ on the other hand…" he purred quietly, low and breathy as his tongue caressed each and every word. He playfully allowed his teeth to graze against Blaine's earlobe, causing the shorter man's eyes to flutter closed at the unfamiliar sensation. "…_you_ seem a little skittish. Did you dream about me?"

Miraculously, Blaine managed to swallow his lust and pull roughly out of Sebastian's embrace, practically catapulting himself to the floor in an effort to stand up. He caught himself on the edge of the bed and stood, glancing down at Sebastian with irritated, slightly judgmental eyes. It was difficult when the man in his bed was essentially the most beautiful thing Blaine had ever seen.

The blanket had fallen down to around his waist, and Sebastian's entire torso was exposed to the cool morning air, his chest rising and falling with each breath. Blaine swore that he could count his heartbeats; both his own, and Sebastian's. His hair was tussled and messy and falling into his unfairly gorgeous face. The genuine smile that was _actually _reaching Sebastian's eyes was so unlike him, and so startlingly beautiful that it quite literally took Blaine's breath away.

"N-No," he finally choked out, "I didn't dream about anything."

"Of course not," Sebastian smirked, purposefully eyeing Blaine's crotch without a care in the world.

Blaine looked down and cursed under his breath, suddenly aware of the fact that he was hard. Clearly, obviously, and irrevocably hard in his batman boxers; and he knew that it was all_ this_ stupid bastard's fault.

That's when Blaine fled from the room.

* * *

"I really am sorry, Sebastian."

"Don't mention it."

Sebastian smiled and shut Blaine's front door behind him, joining the other man on his front step and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans from last night (an incredible feet, really, considering how tight they were).

"Really," Sebastian said, "Don't ever mention it again. Ever. Unless you don't mind me laughing my ass off to the point that I'm rolling around on your bedroom floor in tears all over again."

Blaine hid his face in his hands, his cheeks burning in embarrassment. One measly hard-on and he had run from the room and locked himself in his bathroom, sitting comfy in his bathtub until Sebastian had come to find him. It had taken a good ten minutes, lots of coaxing, and a fair amount of reassurance that it_ really_ wasn't a big deal before Blaine had eventually come out.

At his expression, Sebastian had burst out laughing; and surprisingly, Blaine had laughed right along with him.

It felt nice to laugh like that.

Now, here they were, standing on Blaine's front porch, and he was fairly certain that after the past 24 hours, nothing would ever be awkward between the two of them ever again. Blaine teasingly poked Sebastian's stomach, his finger practically rebounding off of abs that he knew were rock-hard, irritatingly so.

"Thank you for everything," he said, his eyes catching a glimmer of emerald before he was forced to look away out of pure intimidation.

"No," Sebastian murmured, placing a finger underneath of Blaine's chin and forcing their eyes to lock. "Thank _you_, for a fantastic night." He leaned down to gently kiss Blaine's forehead and grinned, his lips lingering for a moment that seemed to stretch on for eternity before he threw the shorter man a lewd wink, then confidently strut down the front steps and onto the sidewalk.

"You have my number!" he called over his shoulder as he stepped into the taxi.

Blaine smiled to himself and waved as Sebastian was driven away.

He knew for a fact that it wouldn't go undialed.


End file.
